


seaside improvisation

by itsinjustbeing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28239273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsinjustbeing/pseuds/itsinjustbeing
Summary: It could have been romantic, really. Dean could have ran down the stairs and hugged the angel. Or he could have dragged Cas and pinned him against one of the bookshelves and kissed the longing out of the both of them. Or he could have shouted his love from the balcony, for both Sam and Cas to hear. There were so many things he could have done.Instead, he stood there, at the entrance, too stunned to move.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from a richard siken poem of the same name

The moment Dean steps into the bunker and sees Cas standing beside the map table is the moment he loses his tongue. 

It was a long drive back. Quiet. Sam calls everyone they know on the phone while Dean drives through the states. Sam calls Eileen first, then the girls in Sioux Falls, then Charlie, and Bobby, and all the other people in the hunter commune they have built throughout the years. 

Dean feels happy, he must admit. It’s over now. What’s to be had has been had. They’re not puppets anymore. There is a relief to that, fuck was there relief

The only thing left to do now is to get Cas out of the fucking empty. 

Which is why, one would think, Cas being the first thing Dean sees the moment he opens the bunker lights should be a delightful experience. Dean, on the entrance ledge, looking over to Cas, who is staring at him, agape. 

It could have been romantic, really. Dean could have ran down the stairs and hugged the angel. Or he could have dragged Cas and pinned him against one of the bookshelves and kissed the longing out of the both of them. Or he could have shouted his love from the balcony, for both Sam and Cas to hear. There were so many things he could have done.

Instead, he stood there, at the entrance, too stunned to move. 

It was Sam who ran down the stairs to hug Cas. It was Sam who caught him up with the events regarding Chuck. It was Sam who explained why Jack wasn’t with them, and the one who held Cas’ shoulder in comfort. And it was Sam who asked how Cas got out of the empty in the first place.

“It must be Jack,” Cas concludes. “He brought me back last time, he must have brought me back again.”

Sam mutters his agreement. He excuses himself, walks out to one of the corridors. There’s a buoyancy to Sam’s steps that Dean hasn’t seen in years. Cas watches as he leaves.

Dean waits for Cas to make the first move.

Cas just stands in the middle of the room, trenchcoat billowing to an invisible breeze. Dean carefully walks down the stairs and stops on the last step. Cas’ eyes are on him, he can feel it. But Dean looks down at the bunker floor. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels like he’s four again.

“I forgot to mention to Sam,” Cas starts “But I’m human now.”

Dean’s breath hitches. He recalls the last time Cas was human. The memory fills him with guilt. 

“Something about being ripped out of the empty the second time… it damaged my grace. I had to remove it, or else it would have killed me.” If Cas was mourning his lost grace, his voice was not giving it away. He sounds at peace, like his angel grace being ripped out of him didn’t land him homeless and miserable the last time.

Dean wants to say something. He wants to comfort Cas. He wants to ask him what he meant when he said he loved Dean. He wants to have their knees knock against each other’s as Dean leans forward and kisses him.

Dean does none of these things. He walks down the corridor into his room. He doesn’t look back.

  
  
  
  
  


Dean picks up a mug off the plate rack.

It’s been two weeks since they defeated Chuck. Dean should be celebrating; everyone is alive and they have no imminent problems. On day three, Sam went out to visit people around the country. He invited Dean to come along, and Dean would have said yes if he wasn’t positive that coming along means Cas would tag along, too.

He knows the conversation is inevitable, and it’s not like he doesn’t want to have it. It’s just a matter of being ready, and Dean very much isn’t. So he has settled on locking himself up in his room and watching Netflix all day, going for food runs and showers during ungodly hours to make sure he won’t accidentally bump into Cas. Sam knocked on his door when he returned to the bunker a few days ago, and that’s pretty much all the social interaction Dean has gotten.

And now he’s fucking around at the kitchen at two a.m. on a Thursday, looking for the bag of ground coffee that they keep around here somewhere so he can make enough coffee to stay awake for the next few b-list horror movies he’s binging.

"We ran out of coffee grounds this morning" 

Dean stops dead in his tracks. The voice is gravelly, familiar. Shit. _Shit._

"I haven't gone out to get a refill yet. I hope you don't mind." 

Cas is speaking carefully. Maybe he's afraid Dean will bolt on him. Maybe Dean might have, if only he wasn't completely frozen in place. 

Dean hears Cas shift in place. He can't dare to turn around. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, of Cas standing here, _now,_ talking about coffee of all things, in the bunker kitchen after-

Well. After. 

They stand around for a while, Dean is hyperaware of Cas' breathing. _He's human now. Fuck, he needs to breathe and he's human now. He's here, and I can't even-_

"The empty… it kept me awake while I was in there." Cas breaks the silence. It takes Dean a few seconds to reel himself in, to listen to what Cas has to say. 

"I was aware the whole time. I think it wanted to torture me by letting me hear your prayers and not be able to do anything about it." 

Cas walks, slowly, towards Dean. Dean could hear it. He stands still, grips the mug he's holding in his right hand. 

"I heard your every prayer, Dean. I heard you beg for me to come back. I heard your pain, your longing." 

Cas' voice is nearer now. If Dean could just turn around, he knows Cas would be right there, close enough to hold, close enough to say with proximity what he can't say with words. 

He doesn't turn around. He stands still. He grips his mug. 

A sigh. A shift. Dean can hear Cas step back, move towards the door. A pause. Dean wants to turn around, to follow, to speak. He stares at the burners instead. 

"But now, I'm here." A beat "And you won't even look at me." 

Cas' voice is quieter now, almost like he's just speaking to himself. _He might as well be_ , Dean thinks. _Not like I'm contributing anything to this conversation._

Dean hears Cas walks away. Dean sets down the mug and grips the edges of the kitchen counter. 

  
  
  
  
  


Dean knows he is being a coward, that he’s the one who is making this difficult for both Cas and him. But whatever bravery Cas has that allowed him to confess to Dean the day Billie chased after them, Dean just doesn't have it. So he lays down on his bed instead and thinks about what Cas said in the bunker kitchen earlier that day. 

_I heard your every prayer._

_I heard your pain, your longing._

Cas must know then. Surely he must know. Dean hasn't said it, not even in prayer, not even to himself. But surely, Cas must have felt it, in the way Dean begged for him to come back. Surely he must know. 

The certainty gave Dean a feeling of comfort. They have time now, after all. Cas is here, Dean is here, and there is no apocalypse to gear for, no big bad to try and fight. It's just them, and they have all the time in the world. 

They don't have to talk about it yet. They have time. Cas is human now, he's not going to leave. They have time. 

Dean wakes up, and Castiel is gone in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be updating this as soon as the chapters are finished :)


	2. Chapter 2

Dean checks every room in the bunker before he gathers up enough courage to ask Sam about Cas.

He stands at the entrance of the laundry room, hesitant. Sam is leaning against the dryer, one foot up with a book in hand. Dean forces his voice to sound casual. He doesn't know how much his eyes betray him.

"Why did you let him leave?" 

Sam looks up. He looks at Dean with disappointment. The reality of the situation sinks into Dean. _Cas is gone. Cas is gone. Cas is gone._

"I don't know Dean. Why didn't you ask him to stay?"

  
  
  
  
  


Eileen moves in three weeks later, and she's a delight. She and Sam move with grace together like leaves on a tree. At another time, with another girl, Dean would have been wary, but this is Eileen. She knows the life, she has _lived_ the life. Hell, she’s even been dead and brought back like a proper Winchester. Sam and Eileen are good for each other. They’re happy, and Dean is happy for them. 

If only Dean can say the same for himself.

Sam and Eileen’s hunter business (Sam hates it when Dean calls it that, but it’s the most fitting name for what they do) is booming too. They’ve stopped hunting now, at least not directly. Sam set up a hunter directory for every single hunter in the country, and it’s all centered in the bunker. Research, phone calls, ingredients for spells, weapons, the bunker is a one-stop-shop for it all. It took them a few months to set it all up, but the moment they were up and running, everything was so efficient that work didn’t even feel like work anymore.

Dean has stopped being preoccupied. And so he drinks. He locks himself up in his room and drinks. 

  
  
  
  
  


Sam knocks on his door and enters with purpose, a seeming trend nowadays. Beer bottles are strewn all over the floor, with the occasional bottle of Jack Daniel’s here and there. Dean is a mess, and he knows it.

"Dean, you can't keep doing this." Sam leans over the door frame. 

“I’m not doing anything” Dean grunts. He buries himself further down the mattress.

Sam sighs. It’s like Dean can hear the gears turning on his little brother’s mind. “Do you want his number?” 

And just like that, Dean springs up the bed. He's alert now.

“Bullshit. He left his phone here. I found it in his room when I tried calling him after he left.”

Sam shifts on the balls of his feet. “He called me.”

Something moves inside Dean. Suddenly, he can’t breathe.

“When?’

“Couple months back,” Sam says with a look of guilt. Dean feels relief and anger all at once.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Look at you, Dean. You think he’ll want to talk to this? You think he’ll want to come back to this?”

“Well, I don’t think he’s coming back either way.” Dean snorts. He lets the hurt sit low on his throat. 

“I’m not giving you his number until you get your shit together.” 

And so Dean does.

  
  
  
  
  


He was two and a half months sober when Sam texted him a string of digits that made him immediately start shaking. It’s weird. He’s been experiencing shaky hands and more anxiety than usual ever since he withdrew from the alcohol, but this shaking is different. It comes from his bones, a chill that makes his teeth chatter.

He looks at the time. 23:11. It’s not an appropriate time to call.

He decides to sleep on it until the morning, and he made an honest attempt out of it, too. Except Dean finds himself completely unable to doze off, and he ends up just staying up all night, watching as the clock ticks into a more reasonable time. 

The digital clock shows 7:59 in bold red. Dean waits, and waits, and waits.

8:00

He grabs his phone from the nightstand. The phone opens straight to the text. Dean takes a couple of breaths to calm his nerves. He counts to ten. Then he dials the number.

A ring.

A ring.

A click.

“Hey Cas” He has practiced this. He knows how to do this. He has geared himself to hear Cas' voice again all night. He can do this.

Except the person who responds has an unfamiliar voice. Dean’s heart drops to his stomach.

“Hello, Sorry but Cas is in the shower right now. What is it?”

Dean looks at the clock again. 8:02. Some guy is at Cas’ house at eight in the morning, answering his phone calls while Cas showers. _Oh, God. Oh, God_.

“If you want I can tell him to call you back later.” The man at the other end says, his calm voice grating in Dean’s ear. Dean feels like he’s going to puke.

“No, no. It’s okay.” It’s not. “I dialed the wrong number.” He didn’t. 

Dean hangs up. 

He wants to smash his phone against the wall. He doesn’t. Instead, he goes to the kitchen and looks for the familiar bottle.

Sam catches him on the floor of the storage room. Dean didn’t even attempt to get himself a glass. He expects Sam to shout, turn around, give up on him. Fuck knows it’s what he deserves. Instead, Sam hauls him off his ass and carries him to his room. Dean hasn’t been this drunk in a while. It’s a comforting feeling. He hates it.

  
  
  
  
  


“He’s got someone now. He’s with someone now. Did you know?” Dean slurs as Sam tosses him to the bed.

Sam looks at him with pity. 

Son of a bitch

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

  
  
  
  
  


“I threw them all out,” Sam says the next morning. “It’s okay, it’s just one slip up. You’ll get through it.”

Dean can just go out and drive himself to a bar and get hammered there. He knows this. Sam knows this. But Sam looks at Dean like he trusts him, and it makes Dean’s heart ache. 

  
  
  
  
  


Dean finds Eileen in the bunker library, scribbling down on a thick leather-bound notebook amidst all the research layed out in front of her. It’s a beautiful notebook, similar to that of John’s, but less worn. Eileen looks up at him and smiles. 

“It’s a journal.” She signs, slow enough for Dean to follow. Dean has been practicing, but whenever Eileen and Sam speak to each other in his presence, he still finds himself mostly unable to keep up with their speed.

“My Dad has one too. Useful for hunting.” He says back.

Eileen shakes her head. “Not a hunter’s journal. Just a journal journal.”

“Like feelings and stuff?”

Eileen laughs at that. A hearty one. Dean can’t help but smile. “Yeah, feelings and stuff”

They focus back on the things that they're doing, Eileen on her journal and Dean on the book about kitsunes that he’s reviewing. It’s been almost a year since Eileen moved in, and having her around is a pleasure. She’s funny, she’s smart, and she gets shit done. Dean thinks Sam is lucky to have her around.

Eileen taps Dean’s hand across the table and he looks up. 

“You should try it.” She says with a finger pointing at her journal. 

“Oh.” Dean responds. 

  
  
  
  
  


Dean finds himself buying a beautiful leather journal in a quaint little shop in Lawrence. It's refillable, and the pages are thick, heavy. He can definitely consider it a splurge buy. Looks fucking beautiful though.

Filling up the first page is more of a challenge than he thought it would be. He has no idea what to write. Writing about his day seems so stupid, a giant waste of beautiful paper. The more he thinks about it, the more the idea escapes him. He gives up, closes the notebook, sets it aside on his desk. _So much for feelings and stuff._

  
  
  
  
  


Except three weeks later, he does end up filling out the front page with a sprawling drawing of Baby. Dean can be a competent artist when he tries, and he tries with these sketches. The next page was a drawing of Sam from a picture Dean found of them lounging around, 15 years younger than today. The next page was Mom, long haired and smiling. Then lakes, and mountains, and landscapes, and the bunker living room.

He doesn’t have a picture of Castiel. He draws him from memory.

He starts writing words halfway through the notebook. He writes about Dad, about Mom. About raising Sammy. About quitting alcohol. About how he misses hunting sometimes, but he's getting old now, and he deserves the rest. 

He's on his third notebook refill before he starts talking about Cas. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Dean?” Sam curves the hall into the bunker library. 

Dean looks up. Sam’s voice is gentle, apologetic. He hasn’t used that voice since-

Dean gulps. A shiver hits him, a coldness in his bones as his body anticipates the next few words out of Sam’s mouth.

“It’s Cas.” He says. Dean sinks.

“He’s asking if he can come and visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter probably won't come as fast as this one, so bear with me.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are super duper appreciated <3 I'm @deancascore on tumblr if yall wanna hang out


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